


the act itself will be louder than the word

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, References to Domestic Violence, Tags to be added, Time Travel, clint loves a&w, i stand by my previous statement that steve is the leader of the wanda maximoff defense squad, on hiatus indefinitely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6890581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During an attack by a rogue Red Room affiliate, Natasha falls out of a window, and in an effort to save her, Wanda accidentally transports Natasha far away and into the path of a nurse who lives in Brooklyn. 1930s Brooklyn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. beneath an angry bible flood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got this done! I gave it a quick edit, but if you notice any glaring typos, feel free to let me know in the comments.
> 
> Title from History Book by Dry the River
> 
> Song for this chapter is Lost It to Trying by Son Lux

Natasha arrived in Wakanda on an overcast, drizzly evening, the sound of rain pattering on the dense foliage a balm for her frazzled thoughts. She had texted Clint earlier to let him know that she was on her way, and to confirm that everyone was still around. He had replied within minutes, telling her what she suspected: Steve had plans to move the team elsewhere as soon as everyone had recuperated, not wanting to overstay his welcome. For the time being, the team was resting in the Wakandan capital until they could find a better place to lay low.

She stopped in front of the building that Clint had pinged her to, and took a moment to stare up at the structure and breathe. She hadn’t seen the team since the fight on the airstrip. The past week away from them had made her realize how close she had grown to her team in a way that no month-long mission ever had. She just hoped she hadn’t lost all of them along the way. She let out a shaky sigh and walked to the elevator, feeling jittery and nervous.

The elevator doors opened up to a common floor, split between a lounge area fitted with grey couches, and a kitchen where Wanda was sitting at an island. Wanda looked over and waved when she saw Natasha, and Natasha gave a little wave back, glad that Wanda wasn’t mad at her. The living area was vacant, save for Steve, and he looked up when Natasha walked over to him. 

He gave her a tired smile. “Didn’t know if I was gonna see you again.”

“I had some things to do first.” She sat down beside him. “I moved Laura and the kids before Ross could get to them. I’ve also secured a few safe houses for the team’s use, whenever you want to get out of here. I know how much you hate to be a bother.”

He hummed in agreement. “Thanks Nat, that means a lot.”

A silence hung between them, filled with everything they weren’t saying about the past week. Steve looked like he wanted to say something, but he was hesitating. Clearly, he needed some prodding.

“Wow, Captain America: international fugitive. And to think that they had an exhibit in the Smithsonian for you 2 years ago.” She smirked, but not unkindly. He huffed out a laugh at her obvious attempt at breaking the tension, but it seemed to have worked regardless, since he spoke soon after.

“So… with what you did for us at the airport, and the fact that you’re here now… Have you changed your mind about the accords?”

Ah, there it is. “I never agreed with the accords, per se. At the time though, signing seemed like the best option, and I figured we could always go our own way later on, if things got bad.” She elbowed him in the ribs. “It’s a little late for that now, though.”

Steve gave her a sheepish grin. “Yeah.”

“So how’s everybody doing?”

Steve looked away from her, his smile fading and a sombre expression returning to his face. “About as well as you can expect. Wanda’s having the hardest time, you should’ve seen how they-” Steve sucked in a breath and let it out after a moment. “They had her in a straightjacket. She had a shock collar on, too. She just stared at me when I came to break her out of the Raft, didn’t even move.”

Natasha looked over to where she can see Wanda in the kitchen making herself some tea. 

“We’ve been talking a lot these past few days, going over everything that’s happened and how she’s coping. It’s helping, but she's still struggling with nightmares every night.” Steve shook his head, as if to break himself out of his thoughts. “Anyway, you probably want to get settled. There’s a room made up for you on the fourteenth floor, third door on the left.”

Natasha quirked an eyebrow. “Expecting me, were you?”

Steve looked away from her, abashed. “Something like that. I knew you wouldn't want to stay far from your team for long.”

Natasha paused at that. _Her team._ The thought filled her with warmth. “Alright, I'll see you in the morning.”

She stood up, and Steve reached out for her elbow. “It’s good to have you back, Nat.”

Natasha smiled. “You never lost me, Steve.”

Steve watched her as she left the room. 

“Yeah, I guess we didn’t.”

\--

Wanda woke up shaking, the feeling of buzzing limbs and a burning neck still lingering from her dream. Nightmares have become such a regular occurrence in her life that she felt like she should be used to them by now. This time was different, though. This time Pietro was in the Raft with her. She could still hear his screams echoing through her head. 

Wanda checked the clock by her bed. It was just past midnight, so Steve might still be up. She left her room and padded out to the common area. She found Steve in the kitchen, seated at the table and hunched over the tablet in front of him. He looked up when she approached, and she sat down across from him.

“Hey, Wanda.”

She tried to smile, but it only caused the tears gathered in her eyes to spill over. “Hey.”

He smiled back sympathetically. “Another rough night?”

“It was worse this time. Pietro was there in the Raft with us.” She let out a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry, Wanda.” Steve reached across the table for her hand, offering whatever comfort he could. He rubbed slow circles on the back of her hand, a calming gesture that had always soothed his mom, and gave her time to gather her thoughts. 

“I really miss him, you know? Sometimes it just hits me all over again that he’s gone.”

“It’s- yeah, I understand. I know how you feel.”

She let out a mirthless laugh.. “But you got Bucky back.”

“That’s not what I meant. I…” He paused, swallowed. “I went through the same thing when my mom died. I was eighteen at the time, and her and Bucky were the most important people in my life. It still hurts that she’s gone. That never really goes away.”

“What was your mom like?”

Steve gave her a sad smile. “Kind. Generous like no one I’ve ever met; she always went out of her way to help people.” Steve looked down at their hands and played with her fingers absently. “I could… show you. If you’d like.”

Wanda's eyes widened. “You would trust me to do that?”

“Of course.” Steve squeezed her hand. “You more than proved yourself a long time ago, Wanda.”

“Alright,” She stood up from her chair and moved to one closer to Steve, scooting over so she was close enough to reach him. “Alright. Just… sit back and close your eyes. Think of the memory you want to show me,” Wanda said, tendrils of red snaking their way towards Steve as she spoke.

Steve leaned back and did his best to relax, preparing himself for the shock that had been the first time Wanda had entered his mind, but the tension in his shoulders melted away as soon as he felt her gentle prodding. She was trying to be gentle this time, almost like an apology for the abrasiveness of her intrusion in Sokovia.

“Okay, open your eyes.”

He did, and they were sitting in a different kitchen, one he hadn’t seen in a long time. It was small, cramped, but that didn’t stop two people from working at the counter together. The man, a much smaller and younger-looking Steve, was washing potatoes while a blonde woman beside him was peeling them over a bowl. That must’ve been his mother. 

“Her name was Sarah. She was the kindest person I ever met; always helping, always giving. God knows I wouldn’t have survived if she hadn’t been a nurse. I always felt guilty that she had me as a son; her life was hard enough without a kid who was constantly at death’s door.” Wanda turned to him sharply, a frown on her face. Steve grimaced at her look. “I know... it’s not right to think like that. She loved me, and I couldn’t help the way I was, but it was a different time, and even now it’s hard not to think of myself as a burden back then.”

Wanda glanced back out at the scene and paused. Something was off. The tulips growing in the window sill were a sick-looking yellow that blended into the stalks, and there was a yellowish hue to the skin of Sarah and the younger Steve that looked unnatural. Looking closer, she noticed that the whole scene had a strange tinge; everything was in blues and yellows and browns. 

“Steve, are you… colourblind?” Wanda asked. 

Steve looked back at her, surprised. “I was, before the serum. I couldn’t see red, or green to a degree. When I first got the serum, red was a brand new colour to me.”

“Oh, okay.” She nodded, taking in the new information. “So what did you want to show me?”

“This was-”

A muffled shot rang through the room, accompanied by the sound of glass shattering. Steve startled, looking up at the two illusions, who continued their work as if nothing had happened. He turned to Wanda, who looked confused and on edge. 

“What was that?” Steve asked.

“I think… something is happening downstairs.”

Another shot went off, ripping Wanda out of the memory. She tried to reorient herself, still seeing an older kitchen layered on top of her vision. She felt a hand on her arm, and turned towards it, seeing a flickering image of a smaller Steve Rogers in front of her.

“You okay, Wanda?” he asked. 

“...Let’s go see what that was,” she replied shakily.

He frowned; he knew she was avoiding the question.

As they ran out of the kitchen and down to the fourteenth floor, Wanda tried to get her focus back. She hadn’t extracted herself from the memory before breaking the link with Steve, and images from Steve’s memory were still dancing in front of her eyes. 

When they arrived at the landing, they found Natasha’s door ajar. They entered her quarters, where they found Natasha with a bullet wound in her leg, fighting a man with a gun. The man shot at Steve and Wanda as soon as they entered. Wanda shrieked as a bullet lodged in her shoulder, and Steve pulled Wanda behind a wall. Steve began to apply pressure to the wound, and Wanda hissed in pain.

Wanda watched around the corner, helpless and woozy, as Natasha grappled with her assailant. The floor to ceiling glass window was shot out behind them, and they were dangerously close to the edge. They were a good fourteen stories up; there was no way she would survive if she fell.

Natasha threw a charged disk at the man and he reached to catch it, grabbing Natasha’s wrist at the same time, and Natasha’s body seized as the shock went through her as well. The shock was enough to cause them to lose their balance, and they toppled over. Natasha grabbed for the ledge as she fell, but it was still slick with rainfall, and the two plunged down the side of the building. 

Wanda watched as Natasha fell out of view, and she panicked, reaching out to catch her. A red light appeared around Natasha, glowing brighter as Wanda strained against the pain in her shoulder, but she was hit by another fragment of memory - a small black cat falling out a window - and the light disappeared, taking Natasha with it.

Sam burst into the room, and zeroed in on Wanda, who was looking pale and bleeding steadily from her shoulder. He traded Steve’s hands for his own on Wanda’s bullet wound and nudged the man over.

“What the hell happened here?”

Steve was staring at the broken window, breathing hard. “Natasha…”

“ _Steve._ Wanda is bleeding, I need you to focus. _Now grab me a towel from the kitchen._ ”

Steve snapped back into action, pulling out the drawers in the kitchen until he found a drawer full of towels, and he brought them all over to Sam. Sam grabbed one, pressing it hard to Wanda’s shoulder. 

Steve ran to the broken window and looked down, but he could only spot the body of the assailant. “Where’s Natasha?”

“I-I tried to lift her back up here so she wouldn’t hit the ground-” But she had disappeared after Wanda lost focus, and she couldn’t feel Natasha’s presence anywhere nearby. Something was wrong.

“Where is she?” Steve repeated, pushing his hands through his hair.

“I don’t know! She should be here!”

Steve checked all the rooms in Natasha’s quarters at a frantic pace, trying to find any sign of Natasha. Wanda slumped back on the wall, the temporary shot of adrenaline fading and the pain coming back.

Steve re-entered the kitchen and turned to Sam with a desperate look on his face, and Sam nodded towards the door. “Go Steve, I got this!”

Steve hit the staircase and flew down the stairs to see if she she did actually - god - hit the ground, but after circling the building twice there was no sign of her. She was gone. 

\--

Far away, a woman was walking home from the subway when she heard a crash and a strangled yell come from an alley. She rushed to help, and found an injured redhead pulling herself off the ground, looking unsteady and disoriented.


	2. you lose your shoes and freeze your toes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I’m amazed at the reception this fic has gotten so far, thank you all so much!! :,) I’ve got my story outline almost all written up for this, so it should be pretty smooth sailing from here. Don’t expect the updates to always come this fast, though, I was just really excited to get the ball rolling on this.
> 
> Song for this chapter is The Thing That Made You by Benh Zeitlin and Dan Romer

Natasha hit the ground hard, letting out a yell as she landed on her injured leg. Her head hit the ground with a crack. She lay motionless on the ground, head lolled to the side, vision swimming in colours of blue and brown.

After her head stopped spinning, she focused and frowned at the sky. Why it was light out? The area didn’t look right, either. Instead of the clean streets of the Wakandan capital, she was in a narrow brick alley, a dumpster not too far behind her. Wanda must have accidentally moved her.

She rolled onto her stomach and tried to push herself up, but fell back down when sharp pinpricks dug into her palms. She looked them over. Shards of glass from when she had grabbed at the shattered window had sliced up her hands, and there were still small pieces imbedded in her skin. She moved to stand up again, this time leaning a forearm on the brick wall for support. 

“Miss? Are you alright?”

Natasha looked up to the entrance of the alley, cursing to herself for not noticing the woman sooner. She took a step forwards, but her leg gave out from under her and she stumbled, leaning harder on the brick wall, and gritted her teeth against the pain. The woman rushed over to her at that and ducked under her arm to hold her up. The woman looked to be in her late thirties or early forties, with blue eyes and light copper hair, grey strands starting to grow in. 

She looked over Natasha, worried eyes focused on the large dark blood stain on the left thigh of her pajama pants. “You’re bleeding dear, let me help you.”

Natasha leaned on the woman, grateful for the help, and she let the woman guide her out of the alley. Distantly, Natasha noted an Irish lilt in the way the woman spoke.

“What happened to you?” 

Natasha thought of her torn up hands. “I fell on some glass and cut up my leg and hands.”

The woman looked at Natasha’s leg, a sharp frown on her face. 

“That’s no glass wound dear. What really happened?”

Natasha was at a loss, mind to fuzzy to come up with a better excuse, and she stared back at the woman and bit her lip.

The woman’s face shifted into an expression of understanding. “You know what, you don’t need to tell me. I need to get you to the hospital, this leg wound looks bad.”

Natasha panicked. She could be anywhere, and she was sure she was currently on watch lists worldwide “No,” she forced out. The woman startled at that, surprised at the weight in her voice. “No hospitals.”

The woman looked back at her, a sombre expression on her face. “Alright. I’m a nurse, I can take you to my house and clean you up.”

“T-thank you.” 

“I’d at least like to know the name of the person I’m helping. My name is Sarah.”

Natasha floundered for a name that had no relation to her or any of her known aliases. “...Helen.”

Sarah gave her another look, her mouth pulled into a frown. “Okay. Helen.”

\--

They walked through the worn down streets, Natasha feeling increasingly woozy from blood loss as they approached Sarah’s apartment. Something was off about the streets, as well as Sarah’s clothes, but her mind was still too fuzzy to process much of anything. She began to recognize the street signs and she thought they were approaching Steve’s old place in Brooklyn, but the area looked all wrong.

They arrived at a run down apartment building and made their way up the stairs at a slow pace that was still a little too fast for Natasha, Sarah supporting her weight on her injured side the whole way. Sarah opened the door to a very small apartment. Natasha stared at the the covered bathtub in the kitchen as they passed by.

There was a bed tucked away in an open room that wasn’t visible from the door, and Sarah led her there and helped her lay down. “You can take my bed since I’ll have to keep you on bed rest for this one. I can take the couch.” Natasha relaxed onto the bed, her injuries catching up with her.

“Just a second, I’ll go grab the first aid kit.” Sarah disappeared for a minute into what Natasha assumed was the bathroom. She looked around the nook the bed was in, and noticed a picture frame on the side table with a grainy picture of Sarah and… Steve. It all clicked in that moment, the alley, the strange clothes, the tiny apartment with the bathtub in the kitchen. She had somehow travelled back in time, probably by Wanda’s doing, and was currently being cared for by Steve’s mom. Sarah. God. What the hell were the odds?

Natasha could feel the tight vise of panic begin to squeeze her chest when Sarah came back with a white bag and what looked like a nightgown.

“Alright, let’s get you cleaned up, Helen. These pants of yours are beyond saving and have got to go, I’m afraid. You can borrow some of my clothes while you’re here.”

Sarah cut open the leg of Natasha’s pajama pants and Natasha leaned back on the headboard as Sarah opened her bag. She examined the wound on Natasha’s thigh. 

“You’re lucky, the bullet went right through and it missed everything major.” Sarah worked methodically, with a speed and steadiness that came from years of practice. “This should heal up nicely. It’ll take some time, though.” 

Natasha focused on breathing through the pain, and tried unsuccessfully to keep down the panic about the possibility of being stuck in the 1930s. She felt herself begin to drift into a haze, but came back when she felt Sarah pat her on the leg. She looked down, and her leg was patched up and wrapped. She turned back to Sarah, who was watching her with careful eyes.

“Are you okay dear? You look a little shaken.”

Damn it. If Sarah had noticed that something was wrong, then she was slipping. It must be from the knock she took to the head. Natasha schooled her expression and gave Sarah a smile. “Considering the circumstances, I’m doing okay.”

Sarah didn’t look like she believed her. “Alright, anything else? You mentioned your hands in the alley. Are they hurt as well?”

Natasha held out her hands and showed Sarah the cuts and shards of glass. They were trembling slightly. She tried to steady them. Damn it, why wouldn’t they stop shaking? 

Sarah stilled Natasha’s hands with her own, smiling softly when Natasha looked up. “It’s okay.”

Natasha gave a jerky nod, looking back at her hands being held still by Sarah’s. “I hit my head, too.” She wasn’t sure if she said it as a claim of injury or an excuse for her behaviour.

Sarah got to work on her hands. “What year is it?”

Natasha blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“The year. Typical concussion question.”

_Shit._

Natasha hazarded a guess. “Nineteen thirty...four?”

“...No.” _Fuck._ Sara’s brow furrowed as she dug the glass out of Natasha’s hands. “Who’s the president?”

“I don’t..”

Sarah huffed. “Okay, probable concussion.” She finished wrapping Natasha’s hands. “Now, you get changed and tucked into bed. My son should be home soon, and I do my best to keep him from seeing the really bad stuff.”

The bad stuff? That gave Natasha pause. Did this woman bring home injured people on a regular basis?

Sarah leaned on the doorway to the bathroom, medical kit in hand. “I do, yeah. Mostly women who’ve been hurt by their husbands, or kids who my son drags here for help. Never had anyone as roughed up as you, though.”

Huh. She must’ve said that out loud.

“Now, no sleeping for a good six hours, I don’t want you lapsing into a coma over there. I have things to do.”

\--

Sarah was drying the dishes when Natasha heard the door open and a very familiar voice call out in a thick Brooklyn accent.

_“Dia dhuit!”_

Sarah shot Natasha a look that reminded Natasha of a mother bear, protective and wary. “He’s sick, but it’s not his fault.” 

Natasha gave her a gentle smile in return. “My brother is deaf, I understand.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up and she nodded, accepting this information. Her face then broke out into a mischievous grin and she called out to her son.

“Steve, I brought home another stray!”

“Aw Ma, not another ca-”

“Steven Grant Rogers, are you saying I should’ve left the poor thing in the alley where I found her?” Sarah asked, grinning at Natasha. Natasha grinned back; she was clearly baiting Steve.

“Yes! The black scrap of fur already hates me, we don’t need-” Steve turned the corner and spotted Natasha. “-another. Why didn’t you say she was a lady?” Steve asked, his face heating up. “I’m sorry, I thought you were a cat,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. He turned redder, to Natasha’s amazement. “I mean- Sorry. Can we start again? I’m Steve.”

“Helen,” Natasha said, staring at Steve, fascinated. He looked young, a high flush currently masking the pale colour of his skin.

“I thought the fact that I was using English would’ve tipped you off to our guest.” Steve scowled at that. “Oh! Helen, I forgot to tell you about the house I have here. Only Gaelic is allowed in this house - Steve never would have learned otherwise - unless we have a visitor who can’t speak it. So Helen, you don’t happen to speak the language, do you? I hate to assume, but the red hair makes me wonder…”

“I don’t, no. I know a few words here and there, but that’s about it.”

“Not to worry, dear. English it is.”

\--

Later in the evening, Natasha heard Steve and Sarah talking in low voices in his bedroom.

“Her hair is red? But it looks brown. I thought red hair looked like blonde hair, like yours does.” That must be Steve. Natasha stared down at her bandaged hands and smiled to herself. She had forgotten about his colour blindness before the serum.

“Well don’t you just have your foot in your mouth today.” Natasha could hear the smile in Sarah’s voice. She could see why Sarah was so important to Steve. She had a fire in her spirit that burned bright, yet she was so compassionate at the same time. “Helen’s hair is a much darker red than mine, maybe that’s why it looks brown to you while mine looks blonde.” There was a pause, and Natasha heard clothes shifting. “I’ll be taking the couch tonight. I know I usually set up our guests on the couch, but Helen has a pretty bad leg injury so she’ll need to be on bed rest.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“She didn’t say.” There was a pause, as both weighed the implication of her words. “It’s getting late. You should get some rest, Steve. You know what a lack of sleep does to you.”

“‘Kay. Night, Ma.”

“See you tomorrow, Steve.”

Sarah left the bedroom. “And you should get some sleep too, Helen. Lord knows all those injuries must’ve taken a toll on you.”

Sarah shuffled around in the closet for some bedding while Natasha shifted to lie down on the bed. “How did you know I was listening?” Natasha asked.

Sarah shuffled over to the couch with an armful of blankets. “Steve’s hearing isn’t the best, so we weren’t exactly whispering. Don’t tell him you heard him say any of that, though. He’d die of embarrassment.”

Natasha smiled.

“Good night Helen.”

“‘Night.”

Natasha was asleep within minutes, the ticking clock and the creaking pipes lulling her to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is getting a lot more Natasha and young Steve interaction than I originally set out to include, which I am totally okay with.
> 
> “Dia dhuit!” - Gaelic for ‘hello.’ I don't’ speak the language so if this needs correction, let me know.


	3. with dragging tails of history

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter is And the Racket They Made by King Creosote

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did not want to happen. My god. I'm still not totally satisfied with it if I'm honest.

_Shit shit shit._

Sam grabbed a towel from the dwindling pile as another one soaked through. Wanda was looking woozy, her head lolling to the side. He applied more pressure, trying not to focus on how much blood she had already lost, or the fact that the window behind him was shot out, or that Steve and Wanda had been talking like Natasha had fallen through it, which, when had she arrived in the country?

Sam had no idea what was happening.

In the back of his mind, Sam registered the sound of the door opening behind him, and then gloved hands were pushing his away, taking over for him. The paramedics were here. Thank god. He stood up from his crouch and got out of the way. Wanda began to struggle as they loaded her onto a stretcher and he reached out for her arm to steady her. She was looking around sluggishly, a frantic glint to her eyes. 

“Hey, shhh…” he said, his voice a quiet rumble. “Hey Wanda, don’t worry. We’ve got you now.” She relaxed into the stretcher at his words, recognizing his voice more than anything. Sam’s heart went out to her, his teammate who had been through so much in the past week. It was the least he could do to help her stay calm and feel safe.

To his shock, the paramedics let him in the ambulance without much fuss. He held Wanda’s limp hand in his, watching her face for any sign of awareness. Her eyes flicked around the inside of the ambulance, and she was mumbling in what he could only assume was Sokovian. 

“...Pietro...”

He squeezed her hand as he heard her brother’s name leave her mouth. The sheer amount of loss she had experienced in this past year alone hit him right then. She didn’t deserve this, she didn’t deserve any of this. 

The doors to the ambulance opened and the paramedics wheeled out the stretcher. Only once Wanda was taken in for surgery did Sam’s military brain truly shut off, and he let his emotions overwhelm him. 

If he had heard Wanda and Steve right, then Natasha was _gone._ And now Wanda was hurt and she didn’t know where Natasha was. God, what did that even _mean?_ He couldn’t be here right now, couldn’t stand here while Natasha was who knows where - possibly dead - and Wanda was bleeding out on an operating table. 

He began running laps around the block to try to burn off his nervous energy. He ran and ran and watched the sky grow lighter and didn’t stop until he collapsed on the front lawn of the hospital. He lay there for a while, staring up at the lingering stars in a sky slowly igniting with the turn of the earth. He thought about his teammates, his little apartment near the compound that he used during days he just needed space to himself, he thought about his mom. What the hell did she think of all this? He would give anything to talk to her right now. 

But he couldn’t call her, and he couldn’t leave Wanda to wake up alone, so he went back inside and followed the signs to the waiting room. And there was Bucky, sitting in a chair, book balanced on the armrest. As much as they butted heads, Sam felt nothing but relief as he spotted a familiar face. 

Bucky looked up when Sam walked over. “Hey man, what are you doing here?” Sam said.

Bucky shrugged. “The doctors are working on some tech for me and they want my input, nothing too exciting.”

“Oh yeah? How’s the arm then?” Sam asked. Ribbing him was familiar and easy, a good distraction.

Bucky gave him a sour look and Sam grinned. “How’s it look to you, Chickadee?”

Sam’s smile dropped off his face immediately. “C’mon man, really? Anything else.”

Bucky’s grin was of a man who had just gained the upper hand. “Nuh uh. Nope. That’s your name now.” God, Sam hoped that one didn’t stick.

Bucky’s smile slowly slid off his face as Sam grew quiet. He must’ve noticed that something wasn’t right. “So how about you? Why are you here?”

Sam was at a loss for what to say. Where did he even start? “Someone attacked Natasha.” Bucky’s brow furrowed. “Wanda got caught in the crossfire, and I came here with her in the ambulance.”

“I didn’t know Romanoff was in town.”

Sam paused. Interesting that Bucky was focusing on Natasha. “Yeah, I didn’t either,” he huffed, “but now she’s missing.” Sam watched, confused, as genuine concern bloomed on Bucky’s face and disappeared just as quickly. That was not the reaction he expected. 

“I guess we’ve overstayed our welcome at this point, huh?” Bucky said.

Sam opened his mouth to reply when he saw Wanda being led out to the waiting area. Wanda saw him look up, shock on his face that she was walking out on her own power. Bucky turned around at Sam’s slack jawed stare and his eyebrows also rose when he saw her walking. She smiled weakly in return.

“Hey, didn’t expect you so soon. Or that you’d be walking. How are you feeling?” Sam asked.

“I’m okay. A little shaken up, and a little sore, but I’m okay.” Wanda swallowed nervously, afraid to ask the question that was on the tip of her tongue. “Has there been any news? Did Steve find anything?” God, please say he did. There was no way he had, she knew it deep down, but she had to hear it out loud.

Sam scrubbed a hand across his face. “Steve’s run circles around the building a dozen times, checked every floor, and the surrounding buildings.” _No._ “Natasha’s gone.”

Wanda’s stomach dropped. Having it confirmed made it all the more real, the guilt threatening to swallow her whole because she had a good idea of where Natasha was. This was her fault. 

Sam gave her a sympathetic smile. “Let’s get you back. Steve wants to be ready to leave the country by the end of the day.” He took her elbow gently and started to lead her to the entrance. 

Sam patted Bucky on the shoulder as he passed by. “See you later, Bucky.” Bucky was quick to throw up his hand in a wave, knocking his book over in the process. When he leaned down to grab it, Sam swore he saw a blush through the curtain of Bucky’s hair.

\--

Steve had spent the night searching every place he could think of, and the sun was just now coming up. He had tried to find any sign of Natasha, a scrap of clothing, a lock of hair caught in a fence, anything, and he came up empty handed. He was beyond panic at this point. Any time he stopped to think, his mind would go back to the image of Natasha tumbling out the window. Nat was _gone_ and for all he knew, she could be dead. He didn’t know what he would do if she was. 

So here he was, going to visit Wanda hours after she had been shot, not to comfort her, but to ask what had happened to Natasha. He knew he should feel guilty, and to an extent he did, but for the most part he couldn’t find it in himself to _care._

Steve found Wanda in her room, gathering the few things she had. She looked up when he knocked. He knew he should give her a smile, a reassurance, something, anything, but he was just too jittery. Steve let the silence rise up and engulf them, eyes darting around the room. Wanda’s lack of urgency was only making him more and more on edge. _Selfish,_ his mind whispered at him.

The question occupying his mind must’ve been written all over his face, because Wanda sighed and put down the shirt she was folding. She swallowed, guilt a tangible thing in her eyes. “When I saw her fall out of the window, I panicked,” she began in a rush. “I tried to catch her and carry her back up, but my injury was straining me already, and…” She paused, and Steve could see the weight of her actions eat away at her resolve. She let out a shaky sigh and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, motioning Steve over to sit beside her. They sat there for a while, Steve absently recalling the last time Wanda and him sat like this. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Wanda opening her mouth and pausing before closing it again, trying to come up with the words to explain what happened. 

An insidious thought wormed its way into his brain. What if she couldn’t find the words because Natasha was gone? He felt the knot of dread in his chest grow tighter, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. “Is she... dead?” he asked, voice cracking.

Wanda actually smiled at this. “No, she’s alive.” Steve felt relief wash over him, the weight of his panic lifting off his chest in a long huff of air. She was still alive, thank god. “I can feel her presence, like I can feel all of yours. It’s very faint, very far away, but it is still there.” 

“If you can feel that she’s alive, can you bring her back?” he asked, a desperate edge to his voice. 

Wanda’s smile faltered. “Before we went to help Natasha, when you were showing me your memories, the sound of the shots broke my concentration.” Steve nodded. He remembered being snapped back to the real world in one of the most jarring experiences of his life. “But I think I was still half in your head, because I was still seeing your memories, even some you hadn't shown me. I got a flash of one when I was trying to catch Natasha, and it distracted me. I think...” Wanda trailed off and looked away from Steve, “I sent her to the memory I saw.” 

He didn’t understand. Did Wanda send her to Brooklyn? “So did you… teleport her... somewhere?” he asked.

Wanda worried at her lip, watching his face for a reaction to what she was about to say. “No. I mean, I think... I sent her back in time as well.” 

Steve felt all the worst case scenarios running through his mind come to a halt. “What do you mean?” he asked shakily.

Wanda looked back down at her lap “I got a flash of a black cat falling off of a windowsill when I moved her.” A black cat? Yes, he remembered- “Did you have a cat growing up, Steve?”

“That was a cat I saved from some kids. We had a visitor when the cat fell out the window and she-” Steve paused and he stared at Wanda, his face slackened in shock. “Our visitor. Was that Natasha?”

Wanda stared at the ground, a defeated slump to her shoulders. “It might’ve been.” 

Her words hung in the air between them. Steve thought back to the summer he had found that cat. His mom had brought home a visitor soon after, an injured visitor with a gunshot wound, she’d told him later. There was no way in hell that was just a coincidence.

He felt a hand on his arm and he startled. Wanda was staring at him with an intense look of concentration. “What do you remember about her?” she asked.

Steve buried his head in his hands. Christ, what did he remember? “I- not much. My memory wasn’t the best before the serum, and my mom was still healthy at the time so I was only 17 at most...” He searched his memory for anything about the woman, _anything_ beyond her worse than average injuries. He hadn’t given her a single thought in a long time, and he was coming up with nothing. “She was really kind to me, but not really memorable beyond that,” he said after a long pause. If it was Natasha, he thought, she probably meant it to be that way. “We had a lot of battered women come through our house - my mom tried to help out as many as she could - and they all blended together after a while. She left within a week, I think, like most of them did.” God, he couldn’t even remember the woman’s _name._

“I’m sorry Steve.” Steve looked up at the wobble in Wanda’s voice, and saw tears shimmering in her eyes. There it was. There was the guilt for putting his own needs and emotions in front of Wanda’s, who was surely hurting just as much as he was.

He reached for her hand that had fallen from his arm and gave it a squeeze. “Hey, Wanda, no. Don’t beat yourself up about this, you were under a lot of stress at the time.” He tried for a smile. _Try to be content with the idea that she’s at least alive._ “We’ll figure this out.”

Wanda smiled back uncertainly. “Yeah.”

\--

Moping was never a word anyone would associate with Captain America. 

Then again, he wasn’t Captain America anymore, was he?

Regardless, Steve found himself moping in his room, everything of his he wanted to keep already gathered together. He picked up his uniform and let his eyes roam over the fabric. Everything had changed this past week. This wasn’t his to wear anymore, just his to dispose of. He would have to lose it later down the road, somewhere far away from Wakanda. He packed it with a feeling of remorse. He had lost nearly everything all over again, and he felt lost now, adrift. He had spent so much time being Captain America, fighting for others. Did he even remember how to just be Steve Rogers?

He grabbed the bag that held what was left of his life and dragged it out to the common area, too emotionally drained to do anything but sit and wait for everyone else to be ready to go. He stared at is hands and let out a huff of laughter. When had he gotten so morose?

He felt the couch dip as someone sat down beside him. It was Bucky, and Steve smiled. “Hey, we’re heading out after sunset. You think you’re ready to go?” Bucky pursed his lips and looked away.

“That’s what I’m here about. I think…” Steve swallowed at the hesitance in Bucky’s voice, his need to pause. Bucky was fidgeting openly now. “I think I should go back under, at least until I have control of myself. I don’t want another incident like what happened with Zemo.” Steve’s smile fell. “I’ve already talked to T’Challa about it, and they have the technology to put me in stasis. They can have it set up in a few hours.”

Steve stared at the floor, at a loss for words. He had just gotten Bucky back and now he was going to lose him again. Sure, it wasn’t forever, and it was the best choice for Bucky, but it still _hurt._

He looked up at Bucky, who was shifting nervously, waiting for Steve’s answer. Steve gave him a sad smile. “Okay,” he said, “that’s fair.”

“It’ll take a few hours until they’re ready for me,” Bucky said, looking apologetic. “Can I sit with you until then?”

Steve smiled. “I would love that.”

\--

In the evening when Bucky was safely in stasis and everyone was packed and ready to go, they met near the Wakandan border. Steve’s eyes were roving over the list of safe houses that Natasha had given to him the day before, too lost in thought to absorb anything on the page.

Clint walked up beside him. “So where to, fearless leader?”

Steve looked up from his list and at Clint. He must be missing his family. Steve looked back down, and one safe house stuck out to him in particular. He shook his head at the name of the town, a small smile tugging at his lips. Natasha was such a cheeseball sometimes.

“Let’s go to Canada. It’s easy to get lost in Canada.”


	4. we fill our travelling diaries with loss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got this done! I have chapter titles now! I just worked 3 60-hour weeks so I didn't have nearly as much time to write as I would have liked. Thank you so much for all your support so far though, I never imagined that this fic would get near the reception it's getting, it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.
> 
> I created a playlist for the major arc of this story and am posting the songs with their appropriate chapters. I took a lot of time to match the tone and lyrics of the songs to the chapters, and I think it really adds to them, so you should check the songs out! I'll also be posting the songs in a playlist on my tumblr as I add them.
> 
> Song for this chapter is We Move Lightly by Dustin O'Halloran

Natasha woke up to the sound of purring and a small furry head butting up against her face. She cracked open an eye and saw a pair of green eyes staring at her. She stared back at the little black cat, trying to remember where she was. She looked around the room for clues and paused when she saw Sarah curled up on the couch with a book.

Right. Window. Fall. Alley. Sarah. 

Steve. 

She could feel the panic threatening to come back, that ever-present but ignorable pit of anxiety growing and filling her chest until it was hard to breathe. She didn’t want to start over, she was just learning how to be herself, figuring out who she was. Not Black Widow, not any of her covers, just Natasha Romanoff. She had a family of sorts now, one that she had desperately tried to keep together through Ross’ political rampage. She was never going to see any of them again, was she? 

With a pang, she remembered that Lila’s birthday was in a few weeks. On top of everything else, Laura was going to have to figure out how to explain why her aunt wasn’t ever coming back. Nathaniel was never going to know the person he was named after. It was a selfish thought, but one she mourned nonetheless.

She was stuck here, and all she had now was a Steve Rogers who was still in the process of becoming the man he was going to be. It struck her then how much her current situation paralleled Steve’s. Thrown into another time, never able to see any loved ones again, needing to form new connections to survive. Hell, he was still adjusting and he had woken up 5 years ago... 80 years from now. God. She let out an unhappy laugh which quickly turned into a cough, hurting her still-bruised throat.

She needed to sit up, she couldn’t lay vulnerable like this, couldn’t _breathe_ like this. She got her elbows under her to push herself up, and pain laced through her head, filling in the cracks of her skull. She let out a strangled sound and dropped back down and another wave of pain washed over her at the motion. The cat rubbed up against her face again, purring louder. She moved to push it away, she wasn’t in the mood for this right now. “Stop-”

The cat was lifted off her chest and she blinked up at Sarah, who was holding the cat in her arms and looking down at her with concern. Natasha schooled her features, frustrated that her internal outburst had reached the surface for Sarah to see. “Good morning, Sarah,” she said, voice calm and even. She focused on the woman in front of her and pushed down the turmoil inside. 

Sarah’s face morphed into a frown, her eyes darting over Natasha’s face. Searching. “You don’t need to hide, dear.” Natasha clenched her jaw; she didn’t think Sarah would call her out like that. She stared down the cat resting in Sarah’s arms, absently noting that it was cock-eyed. A moment passed, and she heard Sarah sigh. “Alright. How did you sleep?” 

“Like a log.” She had, really. It looked like it was well into the morning already, judging by the bright shafts of light streaming in through the curtains.

“Feeling any better?” Sarah asked, half a smile on her face. Natasha took a moment to assess herself. She was groggy, eyes fuzzy and heavy. Her leg was burning, her head was still giving off a dull throb. She flexed her hands. Hurting, but healing. 

“A bit. I think. My leg doesn’t feel any better. My head is clearer now, though.”

Sarah watched her, eyes warring between confusion and concern. “You’re handling all of this quite well.”

 _Shit._ Natasha looked away. “I have a high pain tolerance.” 

The cat was still staring at her. It let out a strangled meow that crackled and skipped. 

Of course Sarah would notice her lack of pain, Steve himself had said she was a nurse. She should leave before Sarah came to any bad conclusions about her. She licked her lips and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry to be a bother. I’ll be out of here as soon as I’m healed enough.”

Sarah stared at her, disbelief written all over her face. “You have a bullet wound. You are in no position to be worrying about overstaying your welcome.” She spoke slowly, as if explaining something to a young child. “The bullet might have missed the important stuff, but you won’t be walking for the foreseeable future.”

Realization flashed in Sarah’s eyes, and she searched Natasha’s face for... _something._ The look unnerved her; it was too observant. She emptied her face of any emotion, staring right back. After a moment, Sarah spoke.

“Is there anyone ...looking... for you?”

A fresh wave of loss passed over Natasha. Her team - Steve, Clint, Sam, _Wanda_ \- were probably searching for her frantically, but they weren’t the ‘anyone’ that Sarah was referring to. No one was coming to hunt her down, not anymore. The Red Room shooter and anyone else like him would never, could never, find her here. She frowned. The thought wasn’t as comforting as it should have been.

“No,” she said, voice quiet in the small apartment.

Sarah watched her face for a little while longer before nodding, looking somewhat dissatisfied with what she saw. Natasha swallowed at the thought, and a traitorous part of her mind drifted to the idea that Sarah might be dissatisfied with _her._ Even though she knew she couldn’t get close to either Sarah or Steve, it hurt to think that Sarah, Steve’s _mother,_ might not like her.

“Okay,” Sarah said. She paused, eyes boring into Natasha’s, face steady and fierce. “But if that’s not the truth,” she said lowly, “and someone comes knocking, in the end, I have to protect my family first.”

Natasha nodded, struck silent by the gravity in Sarah’s voice. This was the second time that Sarah had given her that look and it was all fierce protection, years of watching Steve struggle sitting behind her eyes.

Natasha heard a door open and saw Steve stumble out of his room behind Sarah, hair rumpled and looking dazed. Already off-kilter, she clenched her hands into fists, trying to hide from Sarah the feeling of loss that seeing Steve brought to her. Sarah glanced back at Steve and gave him a tiny wave. He waved back and stumbled to the bathroom. 

Sarah put the cat down on the end of the bed. The moment was broken. “You rest up, I’m sure you’re still tired and I have things to do.”

Natasha sighed, glad the interrogation was over for the time being. “Could I at least get a book?” She tried to hold in the yawn building at the back of her throat, but it bubbled up despite her efforts.

Sarah raised an eyebrow at her, the unvoiced _Oh really_ clear in her eyes. 

_“Sleep.”_ Sarah said. 

Natasha slept.

\--

She dreamed of falling out of the broken window all over again, except this time she was _thrown_ through it, the dark sky being overtaken by red and hot and _fire_ that was blinding and burning, and then there was cold and snow and-

nothing.

\--

When Natasha woke up again, the sun was hitting the wall across from her at a higher angle than before. Sarah was gone and Steve was seated at the small sofa, sketchbook in his lap. 

Her panic from the morning had calmed and slid into despondency. She missed everyone, was mourning everyone. She felt her eyes grow hot at the thought. It was selfish or her; she knew they weren’t dead, she _knew_ that, and they would continue to live on, but it was over. This was the end for her, her epilogue. She was removed from her own life and would never live long enough to see how it could have ended. 

She fiddled with the quilted blanket, doing her best to keep the tears from spilling over. It was a warm blanket and it looked handmade, stitched together with love and attention. Would the team move on through life without her? Would Steve finally get together with Sharon like she had been pestering him to do for years now? A part of her felt quietly jealous at the thought, but immediately chided herself. Steve deserved someone like Sharon, someone who was healthy and whole, who could stand to look at herself in the mirror. 

She wanted to try sitting up again, but she hesitated. What if it hurt as bad as the last time? What if she couldn’t do it? She frowned to herself. She was being ridiculous. 

Banishing her pessimistic thoughts for the time being, she pushed herself to lean back against the headboard. She let out a hiss of pain at the motion. It still hurt like hell, but it was bearable. She leaned back into the support of the headboard and waited for the pain in her head and the throbbing of her leg to settle.

“Good morning Helen.” Natasha shifted to see Steve looking up at her. He must have heard her, sit up. He gave her a small smile and she couldn’t help but stare at him. He was skin and bones and so, so young. She felt her chest grow tight with remorse, with regret for everything that happened with the accords and the rift it put in the team. And here was a much younger Steve, smiling at her, with no idea what was in store for him. There was no familiarity in his eyes, no warmth. It hurt to see.

She must have paused too long; his smile was turning uncertain. She shook her head, reminding herself that she was going to put aside the negativity of the situation for the time being. She had a part to play. “Morning Steve,” she said, perhaps with a little too much warmth. His smile grew shy at that, just like the smile her Steve would give her sometimes. Her smile dropped a touch. She had been trying for friendly, but not overtly so. Unmemorable. But his shy little smile spoke of more than just ‘unmemorable’. She would have to be more careful.

Steve shifted in his seat, self-conscious. Shit. She was still staring. “Sarah’s just out shopping right now. She should be back soon, but if you need anything let me know.”

“Thanks, ah…” Natasha licked her lips. “Could I get some water?”

“Sure.” Steve jumped up from his seat, carefully placing his sketchbook and pencil down on the armrest as he walked away. After he had handed her her drink and went to sit back down again, he picked up his pencil and sketchbook with the same care, making sure not to bend the pages of the sketchbook. With the way he was handling them, they must have been a birthday gift from Sarah, the type of thing their family could only afford once a year. Now that she thought about it, Steve still handled his drawing materials with that same care, years after waking up from the ice.

Natasha felt small spots of pressure on her feet and she glanced down. The little black cat was cautiously making its way over to Natasha, slowly padding over her legs with uncertain steps. It was a cute little thing, if a little scrawny. It was heading for Natasha’s injured thigh though, so she gently pushed it away, attempting to divert its course. It stumbled, digging in its claws into her leg to stay balanced and she sucked in a breath, the pinpricks sending echoes of pain up to her injured thigh.

The door to the apartment opened and Sarah walked through, a small bundle of groceries in her arms. The cat was still walking all over Natasha, digging its claws in every time it was feeling unsteady or she pushed the cat away. She was starting to get annoyed with the thing, but she didn’t want to hurt it either. Sarah dropped her groceries on the counter and walked over to Natasha, scooping the cat up with an amused smile.

“Having trouble?” Sarah asked, her smile seeping into her voice. Natasha fought off a blush. She had fought aliens and robots and here she was, thwarted by a cat.

Steve sidled up to Sarah and she smiled in greeting. _“Ní fhaca mé le fada thú,”_ he said with a hint of a cheeky smile, the syllables rolling off his tongue effortlessly. Natasha had been surprised the first time she heard him call out in a language that was unfamiliar to her; Steve had never told her that he could speak Gaelic. And yet here he was, Sarah turning her eyes to the ceiling, looking exasperated and amused, and giving him a nudge. Steve flicked his eyes to Natasha, looking embarrassed. “Oops. English. Sorry.” Steve sneezed, and noticed the cat in Sarah’s arms. “Did you get some food for the cat too?”

Sarah scrunched up her face. “No, I forgot. We can run out and grab some in a second.” 

“Can I come?” Steve asked. He moved to pet the cat in Sarah’s arms, but it shied away and let out a stuttering meow. He frowned and retracted his hand as if he had been wounded.

Sarah hesitated and looked to Natasha, silently asking if she would be okay on her own. Natasha nodded. She would be fine for a while. “Sure,” Sarah said, turning back to Steve. “You could do with some fresh air today.” Steve sneezed again and glared at the cat.

Natasha watched the interaction with a furrowed brow. “So uh. Why do you have a cat if Steve’s allergic?” 

“‘M not allergic.” he said with a sniff and a pout.

Sarah raised her eyebrows and turned to Steve, who looked at her with pleading eyes.

“Ma...” Steve whined.

“Steve came home one day, scratches all over and holding this little scrap of fur. We cleaned her up and she’s staying here until she’s better, but she _hates_ Steve, and he’s very indignant about it.”

Natasha was really starting to like Sarah. She had been expecting a calm motherly figure, but Sarah clearly loved to tease the hell out of Steve. 

Steve glared at Sarah, but his blush gave him away. “I found her a couple blocks away. Some little kids were kicking her for no good reason, so I got them to stop and brought her home,” Steve said. He looked back at the cat, a frown on his face. Natasha smiled. “She was skin and bones, and tender all over. I think she took a good kick to the head, because she’s been… off. Me and Ma patched her up as best as we could.”

Natasha shook her head. That sounded so much like the Steve she knew. The thought made her homesick. The Steve in front of her who couldn’t be more than 18 and was still so small for his big heart, still figuring out who he was. She tried not to think about never seeing _her_ Steve again.

“She was really hurt, and I rescued her and she hates me!” Steve’s voice brought her back out of her musings. He might not be her Steve yet, but he was still Steve. _Let this be enough._

“Then why don’t you get rid of her?” she asked, getting back into the conversation.

“Because she needs help!”

Natasha stared at him, the smile on her face turning incredulous. She couldn't believe how stubborn he was, even now. Sarah smiled back at her with a look that clearly agreed with her.

“Does she have a name?” Natasha asked.

“No,” Steve said, “She doesn’t deserve one.” His face was still scrunched and he was glaring at the cat. Natasha couldn’t help but chuckle.

Sarah patted him on the back, her gesture of comfort belied by the amused smile still lingering on her face. “C’mon, let’s get going before Mr. Henry goes on lunch break. You know how he gets.”

Steve and Sarah continued to bicker as they left the tiny apartment, and Natasha’s smile faded with the closing of the door, her light mood leaving with them. She let out a shaky breath. With no one watching, she let the mask fall.

She felt tears build in her eyes and begin to spill over, sliding down her face. Her mind drifted to Clint and his family, to her team, and Steve - he her right hand and she his - everyone in her little semblance of a family she had worked so hard to trust and earn the trust of in turn. She was never going to see them again. And even though she at least had some form of Steve here with her, some form of someone, she couldn’t be a part of his life. He was too important to the future and she couldn’t risk changing anything by getting involved. 

She was going to leave as soon as she was healed enough, she had to. The most she would allow herself to do was drift away and watch Steve from afar. She had to resist making that the rest of her life though, because it would hurt all the more when he crashed and disappeared from her life entirely. She was stuck here with no way to get home, and she had to accept this and move on. She needed to leave her past behind once again and become someone new, someone who fit into this era. The thought hurt more than anything, but she was nothing if not adaptable. The Black Widow would survive.

 _But,_ a voice whispered, _Natasha Romanoff would not._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ní fhaca mé le fada thú" - long time no see (again, correct me if this is wrong)


	5. Interlude I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew! finally got this done. this is a shorter chapter, most of the present chapters will be, but i have chapter 6 half written already so it should be posted relatively soon. thank you for all of your lovely comments on the previous chapter and I hope you enjoy!

_Steve stared at the empty bed where Helen had been resting for the past week. “D’ya think Helen’s gonna be okay?”_

_Ma rolled her eyes at him. “She’s just going next door to ask for some sugar, Steve. I think she’ll be okay.”_

_She was right, it was silly to worry. Helen had been through a tough bed-ridden recovery, but Ma said she was healing well. She would be okay, it was just next door, she had a strong will and she was smart._

And pretty, _a part of his mind whispered,_ and she was so nice to him too. _He recalled that she said she would stay as long as they’d have her, and he grinned to himself, a warm rush of happiness filling his chest to burst. He blushed at the feeling, the_ feelings _he had because of Helen. Bucky was gonna tease him about this silly crush for weeks._

_“Steve…”_

_He looked up and Ma was staring at him with that knowing look in her eyes. “I’d approve, but she’s a little old for you, don’t you think?”_

_Steve felt his face turn beet red and he glanced frantically in the direction of the door. He would die if Helen was standing there to hear that. “Uh…”_

_Ma smiled at him softly. “She’s not back yet, don’t worry about it too much. I think it’s cute, Steve.”_

_He grinned nervously back at his ma, unable to keep the smile off of his face despite his embarrassment at the situation._

_“Steve?”_

_He whipped around to see Helen standing there, green eyes crinkling in a smile. He couldn’t help but stare, caught up by how her nose scrunched up when she smiled and how her smile lit up her whole face. She hadn’t smiled very much since arriving, but since deciding to stay, it was like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders and she was so much happier, smiling a lot, and it was captivating. And her eyes-_

“Steve! Hey!”

Steve woke with a sharp inhale. He turned his head to see Clint hovering by his bed with a paper bag.

“You okay? You’re looking a little flushed.”

Flushed? He had been dreaming about his mom and- no, it wasn’t just a dream, it was a memory, a woman staying with them with Natasha’s smile and eyes and nose and lips. It was her, it had to be her. Frantically, he tried to recall anything else from the dream, what his mom had said, any little detail of Natasha’s face to hold onto, but the thoughts and images were slipping away from him like sand through his fingers, and the more he tried to hold on, the faster the memories faded until all he was left with was a name. 

_Helen._

“Clint- I’ve gotta…” he scrambled upright and out of the creaky hotel bed. “I’ve gotta talk to Wanda.”

Steve heard the crinkling of the paper bag being shaken behind him as he dashed out of the room, Clint’s call of, “but I brought you A&W!” following him out.

Wanda was already stepping outside of her door as he rushed over, searching his face with worried eyes. She must have sensed his distress.

“Her name was Helen,” he said, voice cracking on her name. He stared at Wanda desperately. “I couldn’t remember anything else, I _tried,_ but it slipped away and-” He stopped to breathe, he had seen her, he couldn’t remember his dream anymore but it was _her._ He couldn’t remember anything else though, couldn’t help Wanda piece together what happened. This was all his fault. 

“Steve, what are you saying?” There was an edge to her voice, like she was afraid of what his answer might be.

“Natasha. Helen, the woman who stayed with my mom and I, it was _Natasha._ ”

“I knew it,” Wanda whispered, slumping against the door behind her.

“You could look through my memories,” he suggested, his desperation edging into his voice. “I just woke up, I’m sure the dream is still there…” He trailed off as Wanda shrunk away from him, a fearful look in her eyes. 

“I can’t do that Steve, something might happen again. I can’t-” She cut herself off and looked away.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut and tried to breathe, just breathe, but the dream had brought everything back and he couldn't get a breath in past the feelings of distress lodged in his throat. She couldn’t be giving up, Wanda was Natasha’s only hope, _his_ only hope of ever seeing her again.

“Steve, I’m _sorry._ I don’t know what I did and I don’t know how to get her back. We have other things to worry about now.” Steve sucked in a breath and she winced, the harsh nature of her words sinking in a moment too late. She looked down at the ground with a defeated slump. Steve’s heart fell at the resignation written all over her face. “Just… you should go back to your room. We shouldn’t make a scene out here.” She stepped back into her room, leaving Steve to stare at the off-white door. 

He felt guilt wash over him, he was being selfish, lumping all of his worries onto Wanda as if she didn’t feel guilty enough without him leaning on for answers and guidance. He was the sole team leader now; just because Natasha wasn’t there to lead alongside him didn’t mean he could give up on his team. _He_ was supposed to be the shoulder to lean on, the person to look to for guidance. Wanda was suffering just as much as him. 

He swallowed down the urge to cry and walked back to his room. He needed sleep; there was a long week ahead of them and he had to get his team to safety.

\--

Sam woke to the sound of his phone buzzing in his ear. He pawed at the nightstand, wanting to know who the hell would be texting him at this hour. He checked the lock screen and frowned. The number was unlisted and there was a single line of text.

_Unexpected breakthrough on James’ condition. We will be waking him up soon._


	6. carefully and cursively

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams chapter on table* it's done! this took me forever but i really like it. i hope you enjoy!
> 
> Song for this chapter is Penelope's Theme by Nathan Johnson

Natasha stared blankly at the wall in front of her, watching the sun’s sinking shafts of light run down the wall. She had vehemently rubbed away the tear tracks on her face, but her eyes were still sore and puffy, and she felt adrift. The air smelled different in the 30s, she thought, the sounds coming from the streets were unfamiliar. Everything was wrong. 

She longed to have Clint here with her, anyone to help her figure out this century and not feel so lost and alone. For the first time in her life, she had no idea what to do, no semblance of a plan beyond _get away,_ and she was terrified. 

“-Helen!”

Her eyes snapped to the door at the sound of Sarah’s voice. She had been lamenting too long apparently, because Sarah was back and her eyes were still sore and puffy and fuck, she couldn’t be seen like this-

“Where's Steve?” Natasha asked, wanting to change the direction of the conversation before it started.

Sarah wasn’t having it, though; her face was filled with nothing but worry. “Waiting at the market,” she replied. “I forgot my wallet. Listen-”

“Sarah, just. Forget it. It’s fine.” She watched as Sarah’s face fell at her words. Natasha pursed her lips and forced her face to fall into an expression of neutrality. She couldn’t let this go too far, she needed to be unremarkable. 

Sarah let out a harsh sigh, the worry on her face bowing to frustration. “Don’t try to pull that on me. You were shaking yesterday, and you looked two steps away from panicking this morning.” Natasha glanced away, she had hoped Sarah wouldn’t notice that. “But you had a fresh untreated bullet wound and glass in your hands, so I’m honestly surprised you didn’t react more.” 

Oh. Sarah was already suspicious of her? Natasha felt a pit open up in her stomach. The thought that _Steve’s mom_ might not like her...

“Now I come home to find you with red eyes, and you’re staring at nothing. I had to call you twice to get your attention, you know.” There was an edge to Sarah’s voice that was growing increasingly desperate. 

Natasha stared at the end of the bed and didn’t respond. She didn’t have anything to say to that. Sarah was right in everything she said, right to try to help if this was any other circumstance, but she couldn't tell Sarah anything, and she was beyond anyone’s help. 

Sarah ran a hand through her hair, messing up the neat bun it was pulled into. “Listen- you can just… _be._ I won’t tell anyone, and you never have to see me again after this if you don’t want to.” Natasha’s chest grew tight at that, she knew it was only a matter of time before that was true. “Your secret will be safe with me.”

Natasha could see in Sarah’s eyes how desperate she was to help, how much it hurt Sarah to see someone in so much pain sitting in front of her and, in her eyes, scared of help, but she couldn’t give in like that. She couldn’t do that, she had to stay unimportant, as much as she wanted to fall apart.

So instead, Natasha settled for distance. “That’s fine,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”

Sarah visibly deflated; she clearly knew a lost cause when she saw one. It hurt to think that Sarah had to watch women who had been battered refuse help and walk back out her door. It hurt to think that she was going to add to that count. 

“That’s gotta be a tough way to live,” Sarah said, defeated, arms hanging limp at her sides.

Natasha flicked her eyes to Sarah and struggled to keep her eyes from widening in surprise. Hearing those words brought her back to S.H.I.E.L.D.’s collapse and her time with Steve on the way to New Jersey. “It’s a good way not to die, though,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. She couldn’t help herself, repeating those words.

Sarah smiled a sad smile, one that reminded her so much of Steve that it ached. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Natasha said nothing to that.

-

Natasha watched as Sarah walked out the door with a defeated slump to her shoulders. 

Having time to ruminate on what Sarah said, she realized she should’ve lied, played it up, made up a sad but unmemorable story to wrap Sarah around her finger, but the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. She was too exhausted from all that had happened. She hadn’t been able to stop and breathe since Ross showed up with a copy of the Sokovia accords, and with the breakup of the team and the _time travel,_ it was all becoming too much. 

She rested her fingertips on top of her eyelids, doing the best to calm down and look more presentable.

Sarah returned, Steve in tow and cat food in hand. Natasha frowned, staring at Steve’s newly split lip and the bruise forming around his eye.

“Are you okay Steve?” she asked. Steve looked over at her and nodded cheekily. Sarah just rolled her eyes, unable to keep the smile off her face despite herself.

Steve and Sarah worked together to make dinner, and the three ate quietly. Sarah kept giving Natasha concerned glances from the small dinner table when she thought Natasha wasn’t looking, and Natasha avoided looking over at the table entirely, focussing instead on the plate in her lap. 

Sarah left soon after dinner, citing a night shift at the hospital, but not before giving Natasha one more concerned look. Steve went back to the couch, sketchbook in his lap once again, and began to draw. Natasha drifted off into space; she was starting to get antsy after all her sitting around, especially after the confrontation with Sarah.

She reached for her glass and drained the remaining water, eyeing up the glass afterwards. She looked back over to Steve, who was concentrated on the page in front of him. She felt bad about disrupting him, but she really was thirsty. 

“Steve,” she called. He kept drawing without even a twitch in her direction. “Steve,” she tried again, this time a little louder. No response. 

“Steve!” 

He startled and looked up at her with wide eyes. “Sorry! Sorry. My hearing’s uh, not all that great.” He rubbed the back of his neck and refused to meet her eyes. Natasha frowned. He looked almost… ashamed.

“Steve…”

“I’m really sorry. You shouldn’t have to put up with my problems. You shouldn’t have to work harder just to accommodate me.” His words were frustrated and tinged with bitterness. He scrambled out of his seat, knocking his sketchbook off his lap in the process. He bent down to get it, all of the muscles in his body tense. 

“Steve,” she said, wanting to make it better, needing to take that self-loathing off his face. “Look at me.” She made sure he was watching her before she continued. He looked up at her, eyes shining with frustrated tears. _'It’s okay,’_ she signed, _‘I know how it is. My brother is deaf.’_

Steve’s jaw went slack and he stared at her in awe. _‘You know how to sign?’_ His hand movements were practiced but also quick. Excited.

_‘Yeah. I learned for my brother. It was our little secret language.'_

_'Really?’_ He looked delighted now, all previous traces of shame and frustration gone from his face. Natasha smiled.

_'So who taught you how to sign? Your mom?’_ she asked. 

_‘Yeah. I don’t really know anyone else who knows how to sign. Except for you.’_ He smiled, his happiness lighting up his face and taking her breath away. _‘I taught my best friend Bucky a little bit, and he tries, but he's not that good. It’s not the same.’_ He gave her a bit of a self-deprecating smile. 

_'Do you prefer speaking out loud or using sign language?’_

He shifted uncomfortably. _'Signing is easier for me; I don’t have to work so hard to understand. But it’s a bother for other people, and I’m not completely deaf, so I mostly talk out loud.’_

She nodded. It hurt that he thought so lowly of himself. He had no idea how amazing he was. _‘You shouldn’t have to struggle to communicate. That’s not fair to you.’_ He gave a quick jolt of a nod to that, not accepting her words but not arguing either.

She was surprised by how easy it was to be honest while signing with him, as if saying it out loud was too real and signing kept it secret. With signing, there was nothing in the air to be overheard, it was all just between them.

She startled back into awareness when she saw Steve jump back up to his feet.

“Oh, sorry, you’re a guest!” Steve was standing now, sketchbook still at his feet, looking slightly awkward. “You were asking for something before. What did you need? Do you want play a game? We have chess,” he rambled, looking flustered for forgetting. His face was written with apology.

“Could I get some more water?,” she asked, waving her glass. “And chess sounds nice.” She didn’t care much for chess but she wanted to put him out of his misery. He looked so guilty for deviating from her original question.

Steve grabbed her glass and filled it up. She drank the water down greedily, giving Steve a sheepish smile when he raised an amused eyebrow at her. He went and rummaged through a closet and came back with a worn-looking box. He looked around as he approached the bed Natasha was laid up on, the box hovering in the air above the blankets.

“Can I set this up on the bed? There’s not much for flat surfaces here.” His face was rosy, and he wasn’t meeting her eyes again.

She bit her lip. She couldn’t believe how adorable he was. “Sure, you can just set it down.” She glanced around the little alcove the bed was in. “Will a chair fit in here?”

“Yep,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “I’ll go get one.” He dropped the chess set on the bed and ran off to the kitchen. Natasha opened the box and sifted through the set. She fingered one of the pieces absently, noting the smooth worn wood. Steve came back with a chair for himself, setting it down next to the bed.

“So uh, do you want to be black or white?” he asked.

“I think I’ll go with black,” she said. _Black for the Black Widow,_ she thought with mirth.

“Okay, that sounds good, I’ll be white then,” he replied, and he started setting up the board. Natasha joined in, setting up the pieces that she could reach. Her hand brushed against his as she was setting up the final piece, and he flushed at the contact, staining his cheeks red.. 

“So I noticed that you draw a lot,” she said, trying to distract him. She didn’t want to have to help him through an asthma attack while she was bedridden. “Do you want to be an artist?”

He huffed out a breath as he moved a pawn. “I wish. No one like me could get by as an artist, especially during these times.” Right, it was 1936. The Great Depression was still going strong. “Maybe I can be an illustrator one day, but I’ll probably just end up working as a newspaper boy,” he sighed. She smiled. If only he knew.

They continued to take turns, Natasha keeping ahead of Steve for most of the game. “You’re pretty good at this,” she said after a while

“Ma and I play all the time, but she usually beats me,” he said. Not for his lack of skill, she thought; she was actually having to put effort into keeping ahead of him. He was already quite the strategist. “She has this way of staring into your soul and seeing what you don’t always want her to see, so I usually lose.” He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Natasha paused on that, thinking back to how Sarah had blazed right through her silent plea to ignore her red, puffy eyes and got right to the matter of trying to help. _Futile as it would be,_ she thought with a huff. 

“Hey.” she barely suppressed a jump and looked up to see Steve watching her with a raised eyebrow and a smile. “It’s your turn,” he said.

Oh. She looked down at the board between them. She roved her eyes over the board, looking to see what move she could make. _Aha, there we go._ She moved her queen so it was poised to capture his king.

“Checkmate,” she said with a triumphant grin.

“Aw you too?” Steve threw himself back into his chair dramatically. Natasha smiled. He held out his hand to shake. “Good game,” he said, a friendly smile on his face.

She took his hand and warmth spread through her hand at the contact. “Good game,” she echoed. She looked down at the board. His rook was getting close to her king. One more move and he would have beat her. Huh.

“Do you wanna play again?” he asked.

“Ah, su-” Her sentence was interrupted by a yawn. “You know what? Maybe another day.”

“Right, you have some injuries that are still healing.” He nodded to himself. “You should get some rest then.” He reached over to her nightstand and grabbed her glass, filling it up for her once more. He made to walk back to the couch when she stopped him with a question.

“So does your mom take in injured strangers from off the streets a lot?” she asked, trying to keep her curiosity out of her voice.

He nodded; he looked proud to have Sarah as his mom. “Yeah, all the time. She really just wants to help as many people as she can.” He worried absently at his split lip.

“Do you get beat up often too?” she asked, a teasing smile pulling at her lips. 

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I don’t try to, but when I see someone getting hurt, I have to step in.”

“Is it worth it?” she asked. He had made it to the 21st century, so he couldn’t have been hurt too bad during all of his alley fights, but she couldn’t help but worry about him.

His face grew serious, morphing into the look of conviction her Steve wore when he was determined to do what was right. “If I can stop one guy from doing what I’ve seen done to the ladies that come through here, then I’ve succeeded,” he said. 

He looked so sure, still young and hopeful, still believing that everything was black and white and it was easy to pick out the bad guys. Seeing him so bright, so full of hope and potential, made her realize how much her Steve had become weighed down by the responsibilities he had piled on his own shoulders. She ached; she should’ve seen it and done something about it, helped him somehow. It was too late now though. It didn’t matter anymore.

They heard the sound of a key jingling in the lock before Sarah entered the apartment, looking worn and carrying a pair of crutches. Steve jumped up, asking Sarah if he could help. Natasha glanced at the clock, eyebrows raising at the late hour.

Sarah held out the crutches. “Take these over to Helen’s bedside, she’ll need them eventually.” Steve ran them over to her and leaned them up against the wall, just within her reach. “You should go to bed too, Steve. It’s really late.”

Steve glanced at the clock and his eyes bugged out a little bit. “Yeah, I’ll be going to bed now. ‘Night Ma, good night Helen.” Sarah gave Steve a quick hug and a kiss to the forehead and Natasha waved at him as he went into his room.

Sarah turned and gave Natasha a cautious smile, trying to mend the tension, she bet, calling for a truce and asking if she was okay. “How are you feeling?” Sarah asked, motioning to Natasha’s leg, but Sarah’s eyes were focussed on her own. 

Natasha nodded and quirked her lips up in a small smile. “I’m doing okay.”

Sarah came closer and glanced back at Steve’s door. “You want your space, I understand,” she spoke in a quiet tone. “Your business is yours.” It looked like it hurt Sarah to say that, but knew it was for the best. “I just don’t like seeing anything bad happen to anyone passing through here.”

Natasha nodded, unsure of what to say.

Sarah yawned and glanced at the clock again. “Anyways, I’m going to go to bed now. You should too, you’re still healing. Good night Helen.” Sarah walked back to the door and clicked off the light.

“Night,” Nat whispered into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi, i haven't played chess in literal years and i only vaguely remember the rules so if i screwed anything up, yeah... that's why...


	7. and maybe when the bitterness has gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while, sorry about that. This chapter turned out to be a good chunk longer than any of my other ones, so I hope that can make up for it a bit. I was blocked for a while on this chapter, which is why this took so long. i hope you enjoy ^^
> 
> song for this chapter is to be alone by ben howard

The cat wouldn’t leave her alone.

It stared up at Natasha while she read and meowed that crackly meow that woke her up in the morning, the cat’s eyes burning holes into the side her skull the whole time. Finally making a jump for the bed, the cat scrambled up and barely avoided a tumble off the edge. Natasha wasn’t sure the cat would’ve landed on its feet if it had fallen.

Sarah and Steve were playing a board game at the table. They had asked Natasha if she wanted to play, but she had turned them down, citing a book of Sarah’s that she wanted to finish reading. Sarah had shrugged and nodded, still looking vaguely guilty for how she had confronted Natasha the day before.

The book wasn’t actually to her taste, and a board game did sound fun, but Sarah was too observant. Sarah’s persistence yesterday had been alarming, and though Natasha had been off kilter from her emotional distress and the concussion she surely had, the only reason why Sarah had seen her like that, but the fact was that Sarah _had_ seen it. Now because of that, she knew that Natasha was far from okay, and with the concussion, Natasha wasn’t sure she could hold herself together enough to blend into the long list of injured houseguests.

Natasha felt a paw tap her ankle and looked down. She kind of regretted turning down the board game offer now as she watched the cat approach with trepidation. It had been trying to cuddle with her since she had arrived at the Rogers’ apartment. It ignored Steve, and while it liked Sarah, Natasha usually got the brunt of the attention. Like now.

The cat was testing each foot placement first with a pat of the paw as it walked up. She held it back with a hand when it got close and gave it a soft push. The cat fell onto its side as if it had been shoved and Natasha watched with concern as it struggled to regain its bearings.

 _That wouldn’t deter the cat though,_ Natasha thought hopelessly as the cat got back up on unsteady legs and then started walking back to her. It stepped on Natasha’s wounded leg again, close enough to spark a flare of pain, and Natasha sucked in a breath, shoving it away this time.

Sarah looked up from the game at her sound of pain. She tutted, coming over and scooping the cat up.

She grabbed a tin of food for the cat on the way to the kitchen, the cat secure in her arms. Natasha could hear Sarah mumble, “This should get you away from her,” to herself as she set the food down for the cat in a small bowl. It jumped down from her arms, landing with an audible thump. Sarah smiled and went back to her board game with Steve, looking over her cards for a moment before setting one down.

There was a knock on the door and both Sarah and Steve paused, glancing at the door and then each other, before Sarah got up to answer it.

When she opened the door, Natasha saw a boy who looked like he was Steve’s age, with a girl on his back who looked about ten years old. They looked alike, same brown hair, same nose, same smiling blue eyes. They must've been siblings. They were both grinning and the boy was swaying, tipping the girl on his back side to side, her giggles echoing through the small apartment as she tried to hold on. “Hi Mrs. Rogers!” they cheered in unison.

Steve straightened up when he saw who was at the door. “Hey Buck, hey Becca!”

Natasha sat up straighter at the sound of his name. Bucky. _James._ He was so young, and his smile… She’d never seen him smile before, not like this. It was funny, she never imagined James with a sister, with a family of any sort. _This_ was the person Steve was so determined to protect, not the shell of the man she thought she knew from her days training in the Red Room. James Barnes was not that man. James Barnes smiled and kept his hair tidy and gave his little sister piggybacks. She had known him only as the asset for so long that seeing him like this, seeing him exist as the person he must’ve been was… unnerving.

Sarah leaned on the doorframe and grinned down at the pair. “Hi James, Rebecca. What are you two up to?”

Bucky sent Sarah a mock-glare. “It’s Bucky, Mrs. Rogers,” he said, voice almost sounding like a whine. Sarah raised an eyebrow in response.

The girl slid down from her brother’s back. “Ma sent us to ask for some sugar!” she burst out, smiling up at Sarah.

Bucky elbowed his sister. “Becca, say it nicely!” Bucky smiled back up at Sarah with an apologetic furrow to his brow. “Could we borrow a cup of sugar, Mrs. Rogers? Ma’s making carrot cake.”

Sarah smiled back. “Of course. Come right in.” She opened the door wider to let them through and they toed their shoes off at the door.

Becca spotted the cat immediately and ran over to see it. “Ahh, when did you get a cat?” She began petting it and it rumbled out a purr. “She’s so soft…”

Natasha watched the girl interact with the cat. Something about Becca's soft smile and her gentle treatment of the cat reminded her of Wanda. She squeezed her hands into fists until the cuts on her hands stung. She hoped Wanda was doing okay, and she hoped the girl wasn't blaming herself. She didn't deserve to have more guilt piled on top of all the guilt she already felt. If it weren't for her, Natasha wouldn't be alive right now, and she hoped that Wanda knew that.

Sarah and Bucky walked through to the kitchen, leaving Becca to pet the cat. Bucky caught sight of Natasha, and he turned to Sarah, a curious look on his face.

“This is Helen,” Sarah began. “She's staying with us while she’s on the mend.”

Becca looked up from the cat that was now in her arms and perked up as she spotted Natasha, before smiling shyly and waving.

Bucky smiled at Natasha as well, and when their eyes met, an involuntary shiver ran down her spine. She smiled back uncertainty.

“Hi, I’m Bucky,” he started. “I hope you’re healing well. You’re in good hands here, he said as he pointed his thumb back at Sarah, who looked up from sifting through the cupboards at the sound of her name.

Becca wandered back over to them, cat hanging almost limp where it was tucked under her arm. Bucky eyed it with concern. “That’s quite the cat,” he said.

Sarah heaved a sigh as she pulled a measuring cup out of a cupboard and put it on the counter. “She’s... something.”

Bucky turned to her, confused. “Then why-”

Sarah held up her hands defensively. “Don’t ask me, Steve brought her home.”  

Bucky huffed. “Of course he did.”

“Hey! You wanted to help her too!” they heard Steve call from the couch.

Sarah finished pouring the sugar into the measuring cup and turned back to Bucky. “Well here you go, James,” Sarah said as she handed off the cup to Bucky. “Make sure to get that back to me!”

Bucky removed the cat from his sister’s grasp and they both headed towards the door. “Thank you, Mrs. Rogers. Ma appreciates it!” he said through a sunny smile.

 _There was that smile again,_ Natasha thought. That kind, genuine smile that lit up his whole face. She swallowed, pushing down the heartache.

Sarah watched Bucky, looking pensive. “Why don’t you take Steve with you? Helen’s in desperate need of a bath.” Steve jumped up from his seat at her words, and Sarah shooed the boys out the door, Becca trailing behind them. Closing the door behind her, Sarah turned back around to Natasha and sighed. “Now that Steve's out of the way, would you like to get cleaned up a bit?”

Natasha hesitated. She didn’t like the idea of Sarah seeing more of her scars. Her hands were useable, but they were still bandaged, the cuts on them still relatively fresh. She wouldn’t be able to wash up by herself, or at least Sarah wouldn’t let her.

She must’ve hesitated too long, because Sarah spoke up again. “I can just wash your hair and clean your face a bit, and I have a loose dress that you could wear in the bath if you’re concerned about modesty.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “And besides, it might be nice to decompress a bit,” she said. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Sarah had a point, relaxing in a warm bath did sound nice. Natasha nodded her assent. “Sure,” she said.

Sarah nodded and brought over the dress before going to get the tub ready, and Natasha quickly changed into the dress while Sarah had her back turned. She moved to the edge of the bed, her leg protesting along the way. Nothing she hadn’t felt before though, she thought to herself as she gritted her teeth through.

“Woah woah, hey, slow down.” Natasha looked up at the touch to her shoulders, not expecting Sarah to be back for her already. She had been too focused on pushing through the pain that she hadn’t heard her approach, and the hands gently holding her down by the shoulders had surprised her. Looking into Sarah’s eyes, she could see that she was hiding her worry again, and Natasha swallowed against the lump in her throat.

“Here, put your arm over my shoulder,” Sarah said. Natasha did, and together they moved her to a standing position. She hissed as the injured muscle in her leg flexed. “No no, lean on me,” Sarah said, pulling more of Natasha's weight towards her and away from her injured leg. “There we go.”

They got her into the bath, Natasha gritting her teeth again as her injured leg protested the contact with the warm water. She relaxed into the tub as the pain faded to a throb.

“Do you want to soak for a bit first?” Sarah asked.

“Ah, sure.”

Natasha leaned her head back and closed her eyes, relishing not only in the warm water, but also the time to enjoy it, which was something she rarely had. She left her hands hanging off the edge of the tub to keep the bandages dry, and did her best to relax and enjoy the water. Not thinking about her current situation and everything it meant, if only for just a little while.

“Steve doesn’t get to go out often, you know,” Sarah spoke, pulling Natasha out of her head. She glanced back to where Sarah was preparing lunch before looking back to the hem of the dress floating on the surface of the water. “With his asthma, he has to be careful. Doesn’t stop him from getting himself in trouble though. Always looking out for someone else.” She huffed. “Though that might be my fault.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Natasha said, and she craned her neck around to look to Sarah, catching a glimpse of a smile flitting across her face. “He’s kind. I haven’t been here long, but I can tell he gets it from you.” It was the truth, too. Steve never talked about his mother during the time she had worked with him, and she had no idea that Sarah had had this much influence on him.

Sarah hummed noncommittally in reply, though the smile was still curling at her lips. They went silent again and Natasha’s eyes slipped closed, the slow drip of the tap and the sounds of the knife on the cutting board filling the air for a while.

“Are you ready to get washed up?”

Natasha opened her eyes again. Sarah was finished with putting together their lunch, a bag resting beside everything with what Natasha assumed was food for herself later in the day. Sarah quirked an eyebrow at her.

She felt strange about accepting the help, but there was really no way around it, and she was tired. Tired all the time, actually. Getting shot took a lot out of her. She sat up a bit more. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

The washcloth was warm on her skin, and though the cloth itself was a little rough, Sarah’s touch was gentle, and she tried not to lean into it. Feeling taken care of like this was so foreign to Natasha, and she quietly reveled in it, the warmth of the cloth and the care Sarah used, shyly taking the attention and care she was being offered and enjoying it for what it was—because as hard as it was for her to believe, Sarah was doing this with no pretense, but simply because she could, and simply because she thought Natasha deserved it. Natasha swallowed against the lump in her throat. She didn’t deserve this kind treatment, but Sarah didn’t know that, so for once Natasha decided to be selfish and enjoy it while it lasted.

She felt Sarah pause in her cleaning. Natasha opened her eyes - not sure when she had closed them - to look to Sarah, who was staring at her neck with a frown. She watched as Sarah reached out to gently prod at the side of her neck with her fingers. Natasha felt a dull throb at the contact and went still. The concealer she had put on her neck before arriving in Wakanda, the concealer she had forgotten about, must have washed off her neck and revealed the green and yellow handprint that marred her skin.

Natasha went cold and her hand came up to her neck, pushing Sarah’s hand away and covering up the marks, her mind whispering curses at her for forgetting about the bruise. With all the other newer injuries, she had forgotten about the ring of fingers encircling her neck.

“Helen.”

She refused to meet Sarah’s eyes like this. She could feel herself spiraling. This was the point where no one offered her kindness, not when they knew, this is why she knew it was only a matter of time before anything good came crashing down, and the tears that she was now struggling to hold back were only a testament to how off-guard and relaxed she had been, how truly fragile, how absolutely _weak_ she was when she wasn’t safely distanced and dissociated, protecting herself all the time-

She felt a hand on her arm, and when she glanced over she could see Sarah ducking down, trying to catch her eye. She knew she was overreacting, but it was _so_ hard to ignore the panicked thoughts invading her head. And Sarah was _Steve’s mother_ ; she wanted Sarah to like her despite knowing that she couldn’t stay.

She took a deep breath and looked back to Sarah, who was still staring at the bruise with furrowed eyebrows, concern warring with confusion on her face.

“I hate to ask you this, but did a boyfriend do this to you?” Sarah asked in what was almost a whisper, meeting Natasha’s eyes once again.

Natasha eyes drifted to her knees poking out of the bathwater as she worked to calm her thoughts, pull herself back into her cocoon of _numb_ and _safe._ She thought back to that moment that James had choked her, and the utter lack of recognition in his eyes as he did. She bit her lip. “No, it’s nothing like that,” she said. It felt like a lie, somehow.

“Was it the same person who shot you, then?” Sarah scanned her eyes while waiting for a response, then her eyes widened, just realizing what she had said. “I- sorry,” she said, running her fingers through her hair, a grimace appearing on her face at her own words. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s okay.” Natasha wasn’t sure that it was. “But no. Different person.” She didn’t see much point in lying to Sarah about this, who had proven to be extremely perceptive. She had already called her on a lie once already, and Natasha was having trouble keeping herself protected, so there didn’t seem to be much point in lying. She was worried that this might be a bit too much for Sarah to be okay with though, that voice in the back of her head still whispering to her everything that could go wrong. Sarah had every right to ask her to leave, she didn’t need someone who seemed like trouble around her son.

She thought back to how she had attacked James, every time she had tried to snap him out of it and how she had expected anything different. “And besides,” she said, almost as an afterthought, “it was my fault.”

Sarah shook her head. “You’re not very kind to yourself, are you?” she asked with a sad twist to her lips. The way she said it didn’t sound like a question, and Natasha bit her lip and looked away.

Sarah was still watching her, she could feel it, and when she looked up to face Sarah and everything she must be thinking, she didn’t see pity in her eyes, but understanding. “Brushing off your injuries, just like Steve,” Sarah sighed with a smile and a shake of her head as she rinsed the washcloth. “You’re tough, both of you.” She wrung out the cloth and carefully wiped away the rest of Natasha’s concealer.

Natasha watched Sarah’s face, saw how her lips pursed and her eyebrows scrunched together in a look of concentration that was an effort to mask her worry. Sarah was trying. For Natasha she was trying to make everything seem more okay than it was, because that was what Natasha needed at the moment, and the thought made Natasha want to cry again.

“Close your eyes,” Sarah said. Natasha did, and Sarah carefully washed down her face. She felt a bit like a child like this she realized, being washed up by someone else with such care, since no one has done this for her before. Growing up in the Red Room, she didn't get the luxury of careful treatment or help with washing herself up, not even when she was injured. This is probably what it felt like to have a mother.

Sarah paused again, and when Natasha cracked an eye open, Sarah was staring back, a fond twist to her lips. “What is it?” Natasha asked, feeling the weight of her gaze.

“Oh, nothing.” Sarah huffed a laugh and shook her head. She motioned to the bruise. “How do you hide these? Is it some sort of powder?”

“Something like that.” Injuries of this variety were something she always hid. They made her look a bit too vulnerable, and that was not an image that was conducive to her work persona and everything she tried to be. Besides, they made Steve worry too much anyway.

Sarah moved on to her hair next, getting her to dunk her head to wet it down before working some soap into her hair. She could fall asleep to this, the feeling of someone massaging her scalp as they washed her hair. Sarah didn’t even have to do this, but she had a feeling that Sarah wanted to pamper her a little bit, and Natasha began to think.

Sarah had been so kind to her during her stay, even though Natasha had been less than forthcoming with the circumstances of her injuries. She was lonely and foundering, and Sarah was kind, Sarah was safe, and she wanted to help.Remembering Sarah’s offer from before to _just be_ , she was thinking that she might just take her up on that. Maybe it would be okay if she was weak here, and maybe it didn’t matter if Steve and Sarah remembered her a little bit more than their other guests.

She would still have to leave as soon as she could so she didn’t dramatically change Steve’s future, but she could be weak for a bit while she healed and adjusted to her new reality.

“Okay, tip your head back now,” Sarah said. Natasha leaned her head back into the water, and as Sarah rinsed the soap out of her hair, for the first time since arriving in the 1930s, her stormy thoughts were calm.

When she sat back up, her hair hung in her natural tight curls, a stark difference from the loose waves her hair had been styled into when she fell into the 20th century. Sarah’s gaze was questioning but she never voiced the thought that must’ve been on the tip of her tongue.

Sarah helped her to the edge of the tub and handed her a large towel to wrap around herself. Under the cover of the towel, she pulled the wet dress off and she pulled the towel closer, burying her nose in the fabric.

“There you go.” Sarah smiled. “Feeling a bit more like yourself?”

Natasha smiled back. “Yeah.”

\--

Steve and Bucky burst through the door to Sarah and Natasha playing chess.

“Hey, you ruined our game!” Steve called. Sarah and Natasha glanced at each other before shrugging.

“We wanted to play and you were taking too long to get back,” Sarah replied.

“Sorry, Mrs. Rogers. That was my fault,” Bucky said from the door.

“Who’s winning?” Steve asked.

“I am,” Sarah replied with a smug smile while Steve looked over the board.

Steve turned to Natasha. “It’s okay, Helen, Ma’s pretty go-” Steve's eyes paused on her neck and widened in concern. “Helen! What happened?” He came closer to look. “Is that a handprint? Someone choked you?” His gaze turned angry, and Bucky looked over in worry at Steve’s words. “Whoever did this, if I ever meet him, he’s gonna-”

Natasha smiled sadly. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing over to Bucky, who looked just as concerned as Steve. The irony of the situation was not lost on her.

Sarah leaned over and grabbed Steve's arm. “Steve, Steve.” She tipped her head towards him and raised her eyebrows, making sure Steve knew she was serious. “Relax, okay?” Steve watched her for a second, a frustrated frown on his face, before nodding.

“Sorry,” Steve said, turning back to Natasha and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”

“Thanks Steve, but I’m okay.”

“So Steve,” Sarah poked him in the side, “What are you here for?”

Steve smiled sheepishly, looking caught-out. “We were just wondering if we could go to Coney Island?” he said, his words sounding more like a question.

Sarah tipped her head to the side, considering. “As long as you’re back in time to help me with dinner.”

Steve threw his hands up in triumph and ran over to where Bucky was holding the door open.

“I’ll have him back in time, Mrs. Rogers,” Bucky said.

“Don’t make yourselves sick!” Sarah called towards the closing door, which closed with a click.

“Well,” Sarah said, turning to Natasha, “more soup for us.”

\--

“Here you go.”

Steve set the water dish down for the cat, giving it a pat on the head before walking back to the kitchen. Natasha watched as the cat approached the bowl and misjudged the height of the water, going head first into the dish. A laugh burst out of her before she could stop it, and both Sarah and Steve looked up at the sound.

“She uh. Faceplanted.” Natasha smiled sheepishly. Sarah and Steve looked over and spotted the cat, water dripping from its now clumped fur. Sarah gave Steve a look, the unvoiced, “it’s your cat,” reading loud and clear.

“Mashed potatoes with dinner today?” Sarah asked.

“Helen?”

Natasha startled, not expecting to be asked for her input. “Sure, that sounds great.”

Steve nodded in agreement and grabbed some potatoes from the pantry. Sarah began peeling them over a bowl, and then passed off them to Steve who rinsed them and cut them into quarters.

As Sarah and Steve worked together in the kitchen, the little black cat started to cautiously wander its way over to Natasha on the windowsill, the breeze bringing in the fresh air and ruffling its fur.

“She sure seems to like you.” Natasha looked up to see Steve watching the cat from where he was peeling potatoes.

“That makes one of us,” Natasha muttered.

The cat wobbled and an unsteady foot landed on the edge of the windowsill and slipped off. The cat tumbled out the window and Steve called out after it. “Cat, no!” he dove for the window and leaned his head out.

Natasha saw his shoulders slump in relief. “She’s ok! She landed on the fire escape!” He opened the window wider.

Sarah leaned back to watch him. “Steve you shouldn’t-”

“I got it Ma, don’t worry.” Steve crawled out of the window and dropped down to the grate of the fire escape, scooping the cat up from where it had caught a paw between the bars. “You’ve got bad luck, little cat,” Steve said as he cradled the cat to his chest. He squeezed himself back through the window and brought the cat inside.

“Here you go,” he said, plopping the cat on Natasha’s bed.

The cat walked up to her with cautious steps as she tried to push it away.  “Steve, no...” She trailed off as she caught the wide grin plastered on his face. She looked to Sarah for help, who was pointedly ignoring the situation and barely containing her own smile that was threatening to break out on her face.

She resigned herself to her fate as the cat approached her up the bed, pressing her forehead into Natasha’s hand. She watched the cat contemplatively as she pet it, the cat shyly ducking into her movements as if it would be denied affection at any moment, its low purr rumbling through to Natasha’s hand.

Out off the corner of her eye, she saw Sarah glance at her and then return to her work with a smile on her face.

Natasha huffed a laugh and shook her head. A black cat who brought bad luck upon itself. Imagine that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been trying to find my footing for Natasha’s characterization through this fic, and i think i found it in this chapter. Feel free to drop a comment and let me know what you think ^^


	8. Interlude II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so i completely forgot a really important tidbit in the last chapter, and normally i would leave it, but it's kind of important for this chapter, so i went back an added it into the previous chapter, and i also put it here so you don't have to reread the last chapter just to find it. Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> Natasha watched the girl interact with the cat. Something about Becca's soft smile and her gentle treatment of the cat reminded her of Wanda. She squeezed her hands into fists until the cuts on her hands stung. She hoped Wanda was doing okay, and she hoped the girl wasn't blaming herself. She didn't deserve to have more guilt piled on top of all the guilt she already felt. If it weren't for her, Natasha wouldn't be alive right now, and she hoped that Wanda knew that.

“Dad!”

Clint crouched down to catch a running Lila, who was coming at him at full tilt, arms outstretched. He caught her and spun her around as she hugged him around the neck.

“You’re gettin big for this, aren’t ya?” Clint said. Lila pouted at him.

“Where’s Auntie Nat?” Steve heard Lila ask, and he did his best to keep his breathing steady as his heart grew tight in his chest.

Steve glanced in their direction and saw Clint putting on a smile for Lila that Steve could see right through. “She couldn’t make it,” Clint said. “Where’s your brother?” he asked, in an effort to distract Lila from her absent aunt.

“Over here!”

Steve could hear Lila dragging Clint to the back yard as Laura walked up to Steve. “Didn’t expect to see any of you here,” she said

Steve breathed in the fresh mountain air, a brisk breeze blowing down the street, and smiled. “Natasha secured a second safe house across town,” he said. “I think she was thinking of you when she set everything up.”

Laura smiled. “She’s thoughtful that way, always looking out for the people she cares about, even if she won’t admit it.” She paused, fiddling with her wedding rings before looking back up. “Thank you, Steve. I appreciate you bringing my husband back to me.”

He nodded, eyes drifting away from Laura as he heard the kids playing in the back yard with Clint. “It was the least I could do.”

\--

They drove across town to their safehouse, leaving Clint with Laura and the kids, passing a sign for Hope, BC along the way.

Sam snorted. “‘Hope’ though? Really? Of all the towns Natasha could’ve picked.”

Steve sighed, trying to hold back a smile. “Well, we are an hour away from the border if we need to get out of the country fast. It’s a small town so it’s a little out of the way, but it’s also a pit stop town for travellers passing through, which will make it easy enough for us to blend in if we stick to the main strip for shopping. And we’re surrounded by mountains and forest, easy to get lost in if someone comes looking for us.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at Steve “And Natasha’s a sap?”

Steve’s smile shone through despite himself. “And Natasha’s a sap.”

\--

_bzzt_

Sam’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, dragging him out of his sleep, and he rolled over, deciding to ignore it. They had finally stopped travelling, and he had a comfy bed, so his phone could wait. He settled back down and started to drift.

_bzzt_

Damn it. Just as he was about to nod off, too.

With a groan, he remembered that the burner he had picked up was an older flip phone model, the type that would keep pinging him until he checked his messages. He threw a hand out to the nightstand and clumsily felt around on it for the phone. He flipped it open and squinted in the harsh light of the screen. It was text, from a number he didn’t recognize.

_+255: Hey Chickadee_

Sam glared at the offending text. Barnes. It had to be. He quickly added him to his contacts before typing out a reply, cursing the 12-button keypad the whole time.

_+1: That name better not stick_

_+1: How did you get my number anyway_

He didn’t have wait long for a reply, and he scoffed. Barnes must’ve been sitting by his phone waiting.

_Barnes: You know for a therapist, you aren’t very nice._

Sam rolled his eyes and typed back.

_+1: I’m not your therapist, Barnes_

_+1: So what’s up?_

_Barnes: They’re done with me here. They scrambled my trigger words to some other combination that even they don’t know. It’s a quick fix, but it should work for now._

_+1: That’s great, man. Have you told Steve yet?_

_Barnes: Nah, he’s probably sleeping right now. Didn’t want to wake him._

Sam glared at his phone.

_Barnes: I also have two arms again._

Sam sat up at that.

_+1: T’Challa got you a new arm?_

_Barnes: Yeah. You wouldn’t believe the technology they’ve got here._

_+1: What, they got a colour tv there? Cause we have those too_

_Barnes: Haha. Funny._

Sam put his phone down, thinking that was the end of it. He really wanted to be sleeping right now. His phone buzzed again just as he settled back down and he sighed as he reached for his phone again and flipped it open.

_Barnes: So where are you guys staying?_

\--

Steve woke up abruptly, shaking and drenched in a cold sweat. He reached for his phone to check the time, panting harshly. 03:12 blinked back at him. He flopped back down and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling panic and hopelessness swell in his chest and constrict his lungs.

The dream was already fading from his memory, but he knew he had dreamed about her again. Helen. Natasha. But there wasn’t the same light mood to this dream as there had been in the last one. He was worried, panicked, and then hopeless.

He hoped that the dream didn’t mean anything bad for Natasha. She must have left soon after healing, though knowing Nat, she probably left before she was healed, before she was ready. He was scared of what would happen to her after that. _Had happened_ , he corrected himself with a mirthless grin. Had she found a way to transition into life in the 1930s? Had she watched him and his adventures from the sidelines, by glimpsing newspapers and through the lens of a camera, while knowing with a heavy heart what was going to happen all along? Did she feel just as alone, just as out of place as  he did when he woke up in the twenty first century? He hoped that his dream didn’t mean that the worst had happened to her, hoped that whatever she had decided to do, that she was okay.

But really, he just wanted her back.

\--

Wanda sat on her bed by the window, staring out at the blackness and seeing nothing. Eyelids heavy and mind succumbing to boredom, she fiddled with her necklace in a desperate effort to stay awake. Every time she slept since Wakanda, she kept dreaming of Natasha falling through that window again, intermixed with confusing flashes of Steve’s vision, flashes he hadn’t even shown her. The falling cat and the smell of mashed potatoes mixing in with her own memories of Natasha slipping out of sight. The two events, the fall and Steve’s memories, were intertwined, and she wasn’t quite sure why. She hadn’t seen Natasha in Steve’s memory at all, and Steve hadn’t recalled anything about her until after Wanda had sent Natasha back in time.

She tucked her legs closer to herself, squeezing her eyes shut now. Had she changed the future? Was Steve only remembering now because these memories were only being brought into existence now, after Natasha had been sent back? Had she irreversibly altered his life, altered the past?

She fell back on the bed and closed her eyes, letting out a couple of harsh bursts of air in an effort to clear her head. She needed something concrete for Steve, some way to confirm that Natasha was alive. Steve’s word through his fuzzy memories he was only recalling now weren't proof enough for her, she needed her own concrete evidence that she hadn’t sent Natasha to her death.

Though she couldn’t read minds from a distance like this, she could sense the life of the people she was familiar with, even when they were far away. But Natasha… She couldn’t feel anything, not even a faint warmth.

She threw an arm over her eyes and focused, trying to feel for any sign of Natasha’s warm presence. She wasn’t sure she could find her across time but maybe...

She saw a flash of something gold at the edges of her vision, catching the vestiges of protective concern as it brushed over her consciousness, and the image of a girl petting a cat.

She sucked in a breath and her eyes flew open, some of the heaviness lifting off her chest. Good. Natasha was alive at least. They had more than Steve’s vague memories as proof now. Just the knowledge that she hadn’t accidentally sent Natasha to her death, her own team leader and mentor, made her feel at least a little better.

She stared back out the window, content for now that at least Natasha was still alive, at least there was still a Natasha to hopefully bring home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the name of the town that natasha chose for her safehouses is called hope. yes, it's a real town in canada. natasha is a fucking cheeseball and so am i.


	9. Author's Note

I'm really sorry, but I'm probably not going to update this fic again. I've been going through a lot in the last few months, and I can feel myself losing interest in writing and the MCU. Romanogers is still dear to my heart, but I'm just not feeling any drive to write or participate in much of anything. Maybe one day I'll get hit with the drive to write another chapter for you all, I do have the whole thing outlined after all, but I don't want to make any promises. Again, I'm really really sorry that I couldn't see this story through for you all, but I just can't get myself to write much of anything right now. Thank you so much to everyone who left comments and gave me kudos, you kept me going as long as I did <3

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


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